He yelled but he had no breath to support his own voice. " "Mad as you are, you're the more sensible of the two, I must say," rejoined Jonathan. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. Your mother, for what it’s worth to you—for there’s nothing for you here, by God!—was the woman I chose for Nicholas. To-night all this may seem hard and cruel. "I am Owen Wood, at your service.
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